Scared, Potter?
by SomeoneSomewhereSecret
Summary: Drarry oneshots, ranging from fluff to smutty goodness! 6/? Smut will be labelled at Chapter start. Possibly Romione in the future.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, I'm relatively new with actually sharing the stuff I write with _anyone_. So please give me some honest advice! I love Drarry way to much, and I hope you enjoy!**

 **-Darcy**

* * *

"Potter, what the _fuck_ were you thinking?"

Harry rolls his eyes and ignores the angry blonde behind him. Malfoy isn't even supposed to be in here, Gryffindor changing rooms are specifically out-of-bounds. Harry reaches the old oak benches and settles down to unlace his shinpads.

"Answer me, you prat," Malfoy says, leering over the shorter boy's head. His cheeks are flushed red from exertion and his brow is furrowed. Grey eyes are menacing and icy cold. "What were you doing? Don't you realise what you've done?" He practically spits at Harry.

Harry ignores him, and keeps his gaze on his own feet and steadily removes his padding. Malfoy roughly grabs the shoulder of Harry's Quidditch uniform and yanks him up from his crouched seat.

"Potter, you've just gotten the both of us disqualified from the whole fucking Quidditch tournament!" He shouts. Harry shoves him backwards with his right hand and scowls angrily. "You don't think I already know that?" He retorts, closing in on Malfoy.

The Slytherin isn't fazed, and doesn't move an inch. "Then why did you do it, you prick?" He throws yet another insult at the ' _Boy Who Lived.'_

"Did you think you could get away with it? Were you trying to sabotage me? _Kill_ me?" Malfoy is getting even more worked up. When Harry doesn't answer, he smacks him across the jaw with a clenched fist.

Harry stumbles backwards in shock, rubbing the sore spot and suddenly becomes furious. His hands clench at his sides, and his green eyes flash. Malfoy notices and smirks slightly, finally, exactly what he had wanted. But he hadn't really expect Harry to retaliate. The cool, collected 'hero' had finally snapped.

Harry's hand grabs the front of Malfoy's green uniform and scrunches it up. Harry pulls the other boy towards him, and stares him levelly in the eye. "I did it, because I care," he mutters, eyes glinting in the poor lighting.

Draco let out an involuntary gasp, and Harry thinks he sees something flash in the silvery eyes. But then his face has become the familiar cool mask again, and his trade mark sneer curls his lips uglily.

A wave of something flushes through Harry. The hair on his arms stands on end and a shiver runs down his spine. Draco stares into those green eyes of Harry's and tries not to shudder. He tries not to think of _Harry's_ strong, hard body pressed up against him. _Harry's_ chest colliding with his through each panting breath. _Harry's_ supple lips, inches from his.

As Draco stares greedily at Potter's lips his pink tongue slides across his pale lips. He freezes, realising he's given himself away and Potter freezes too. The tanned, raven-haired boy seems entranced by that single movement. So Draco does it again, slower this time. Harry's hand unclenches and slides down Draco's chest. Harry brings his other hand up to Draco's face and it's shaking. Gingerly, he ghosts his fingertips over Draco's lower lip. Draco whimpers slightly at the contact and closes his eyes, pushing himself into Harry's warm hand.

Harry sucks his own breath, and stares at the boy in front of him. Malfoy is usually sending snippy comments his way, scowling at him, and generally making his life misery. But right know Malfoy looks so innocent, vulnerable, and Harry likes it much more than he cares to admit. With his eyes shut, his fair eyelashes brush against his angular cheeks, which feel impossibly smooth under Harry's fingers. Harry gently traces the bridge of Malfoy's nose, into the crease under his eye and along his jawbone. Harry gently tugs Malfoy's chin upwards, and his enemy opens his eyes to meet him.

Draco looks at Potter, and finally sees _Harry_. He can feel his skin burning under Harry's fingertips and goosebumps are prickling the skin at the back of his neck. Carefully, slowly, he leans down, towards Harry's flushing face. His cool lips softly brush against the flowering bruise on Harry's jaw, and Harry shudders. Harry smells like sweat, wood and... _vanilla_. He _tastes_ like vanilla too, and his skin is so, so soft. Draco greedily eyes the tanned skin of his neck, flowing into the tanned skin of his chest, under his Gryffindor red and gold uniform. He moves his lips over Harry's beautiful throat, placing butterfly kisses on the heated skin. Harry releases small whimpers, and moans as Draco hits a sweet spot, and he tentatively sucks the skin between his teeth and nibbles. Harry loudly groans and arches his back.

Harry roughly grabs the back of Draco's neck and drags his face up to his. The smirk on Draco's face sends even more blood to Harry's flushed face, and _somewhere_ else. He smashes his lips against Draco's pale ones and melts into the feeling. As their mouths crumple against each other, Harry reaches up to run his hands through Draco's feathery locks and tugs. Draco groans from deep in his throat and hungrily wraps his arm around Harry's waist and kisses him harder.

Harry feels Draco run his tongue over Harry's lips, and he eagerly opens them. Draco's tongue softly slides into his mouth, and his knees buckle with the sensation. Draco strokes Harry with his wet tongue, and he tastes like chocolate. Magical waves of pleasure rock through Harry's body and his mind is racing. He's kissing Draco Malfoy, and he _loves it_.

Draco pulls back, dragging his teeth over Harry's lower lip and smirks, again. He rests his head in the space between Harry's jaw and shoulder, and breathlessly pants against Harry's sweaty skin. His cool breath makes Harry shiver, and he closes his eyes to pant too.

"I care too, Harry," Malfoy murmurs, lips caressing Harry's throat.

Harry gently tugs Malfoy upwards with his forefinger under his chin, still impossibly smooth and pale, and crumples his lips against his in a searing kiss.

"Thanks, _Draco_ ," he murmurs, between kisses.


	2. Chapter 2

**Prompt:** Draco falling in love with the way Harry scrunches his nose instead of pushing his glasses up and just sighs constantly instead of tucking that little strand of hair out of his face. _(I found this on Drarry Prompt of the Day on Tumblr. It's prompt #630.)_

* * *

The first time he did it had caught Draco by surprise.

"Potter?" Snape snarls, glaring at the raven-haired boy. _The boy_ in question clearly hadn't been paying attention to what the Professor was saying. In fact, he had been sleeping.

The second his name was called, his drooping head snapped up from the table and his bleary eyes danced around the room, barely in focus. Draco can't help the giggle that bubbles up his throat, and tumbles over his lips. Pansy looks up from beside him and sends him a questioning glance, but Draco just shakes his head.

Potter was now staring at Snape as if the answer to the question he _clearly_ hasn't heard will pop into his head. _Stupid boy_. Harry's hair is sticking up in every which direction like usual, but after falling asleep in his own palm, it's looking worse than ever. Draco can see Snape's frustration grow, along with Harry's despair.

"Well? Don't you know the answer? I did just tell you," Snape snaps, lips forced into a straight line, teetering into a sneer.

I see Potter grimace, and glance to his left, silently begging Hermione for help. But she can't say anything, it'll only make the situation worse, and she knows it. Potter resigns to his defeat, and just shrugs his shoulders.

Then, _then_ he does it _._ His eyebrows draw together and white teeth nibble on his lower lip. He scrunches his nose up, and by doing so pushes his glasses up his face.

A bubble of warmth explodes somewhere in Draco's chest, between his ribs and lungs, and a sappy grin transforms his face into something quite pleasant. Potter looks.. _adorable._

A sudden realisation hits the pale, blonde boy, and he conceals his momentary lapse with the signature Malfoy blank glare.

Potter is _not_ adorable.

* * *

The second time he did it, Draco was ready and waiting.

In the week between his last glance of Potter's scrunched nose Draco hadn't been able to get it out of his mind. The way his bright green eyes went all squinty. The way crinkles appeared at the edge of his supple pink lips.

They were outside Hogwarts, in the greenhouses, during one of Professor Sprout's mad Mandrake potting sessions, and Draco had ended up standing beside the nose-scruncher, otherwise know as Potter. As the smaller boy worked, he bent further and further over the bench. Soon enough, those buggy glasses started to slip down his nose.

Draco couldn't help his flitting gaze from checking for that adorable mannerism, when suddenly Potter does it. He scrunches up his nose again, and bunches the rim of his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

A small chuckle slides across Draco's lips before he can stop it, and Potter looks at him questioningly.

"What's funny, Snake?" he spits, frowning.

Draco feels his ears tinge pink but just avoids those green eyes.

"Nothing."

* * *

The third time he did it, Draco almost fell over. It happened in passing, pure luck.

Draco was strutting through the corridors, flanked by Goyle and Blaise. He happened to be walking slightly in front, another of those ways to assert his power, and was turning around to make fun of an idiotic first year Hufflepuff, he was tripping over his own, hexed, shoelaces. Draco's comment elicited various chuckles and snorts from his fellow Slytherins, and when he span back around Potter and his 'minions' were walking towards him. All scowling. Trust their big, Gryffindor hearts to be angry at Draco for _teasing_.

Draco's grey eyes automatically bore into Harry's emerald green orbs. They maintained eye contact for a second, but Harry quickly glanced away, embarrassed. Something flared within Draco as he watched the Gryffindor blush.

As Harry came within feet of Draco, he sniffed, then quickly scrunched his nose.

The combination of confusion through Harry's shyness, and the beauty of his little quirk, left Draco with a racing heart and sharp inhale of breath. Too busy replaying the last 10 seconds in his mind, Draco _stumbled_ into a pretty Ravenclaw girl.

Malfoy's _never_ stumble.

* * *

The fourth time he did it, he did something new.

They were in potions again. But due to a few 'accidents' involving a certain Neville Longbottom, Snape had been forced to integrate the Gryffindors and Slytherins.

Each desk now contained a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, and regretfully Draco had ended up with _Potter_. Maybe it wasn't _total_ torture for Draco, but Potter _definitely_ hated him.

He was leaned too far over their books, frantically scrawling an essay about the uses of Toad eyeballs. Draco had already finished, being talented in this particular subject left him with time to spare. He was now watching Harry out of the corner of his eye, attempting nonchalance. But pesky Potter just _had_ to go and notice.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" he muttered under his breath, not breaking from his messy scratching.

"Just wondering if you could get _any_ worse at Potions, _Potter_ ," Draco retorted. But his voice didn't have its usual venom, and he knew Harry could tell.

The tanned wizard turned to look at him. His beautiful, _yes , beautiful_, green eyes bore into Draco's so harshly that Draco had to look away. Harry smirked and quirked an eyebrow, questioningly.

"Woow, what's up with you?" he asked, dumbfounded, scrunching his nose adorably again.

Trying not to audibly gasp, or visibly react, Draco watched the familiar action with happiness running through his bloodstream.

"Nothing." He whispers.

Harry sighs, and turns back to his stained scroll. His speedy writing quickly resumes. His right hand gliding along the page easily, some unruly hair flutters across his forehead, tickling his skin. But instead of tucking it behind his ear, a long sigh tumbles over his cracked lips.

Draco can't help the shudder that runs along his spine.

* * *

The fifth time it happened, Draco couldn't help himself.

"I still don't get why he hates me so much?" Raven-haired Potter complains beside him.

"I was wondering the same thing," Draco says, not pausing his stirring of the sickly green potion.

"What? Why he hates _you_?" Harry spits, disbelieving. "Snape _loves_ you!"

Draco chuckles and smirks, "I know that. I was wondering why he hates you."

Harry scowls before scrunching his nose cutely. "Well, I'm sure you can name _every_ reason," he mutters under his breath. Obviously not quite as under-his-breath as he thought, because Draco heard him. And the sort of wistful tone shrouding his words. A stray hair slid into Harry's eye-line as Draco stared at him, and he let out another sigh.

"I don't hate _everything_ about you, Potter."

Harry's head snaps upwards as Draco speaks. "What?" he manages, face paled.

"There are _some_ think I actually quite like about you," Draco says, pink tinging his own cheeks.

Harry, still confused, raises an eyebrow. "Such as?" He challenges.

Draco sucks a deep breath between his thin lips, and swallows, his Adams apple bobbing, before opening his mouth. His blush kicks it up a shade as he stutters over his words - Malfoy's _never_ stutter.

"I-I-I, I mean. Well, you look adorable when you scrunch your nose to push your glasses up," he bursts out, eyes squeezing shut in a wince. He hears Harry exhale shakily, and cracks his eyes to glance at the young wizard.

Harry crinkles his nose and frowns. "Like what?" he demands.

Draco can't help but laugh, telling Potter how he feels has lifted a weight from his shoulders he didn't even realise was there. "Like that," he whispers. He's suddenly _very_ glad they're in an empty classroom. Harry swallows and pinks slightly. Another annoying hair slides across his brow and he sighs, then jerks his head sideways to shake it off. Draco's suddenly _very, very_ glad they're in an empty classroom.

"And when you do that," Draco mumbles. "In fact, I might even love it."

* * *

The sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth _and_ tenth time he did it, Draco smiled fondly.

* * *

The eleventh time he does it, Draco kisses him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** This one gets a little bit ~sexy~ not nothing explicit. I hope you enjoy, thanks for reading and please drop in a cheeky review.

 **Prompt:** The Mirror of Erised

* * *

Draco carefully closed the heavy door behind him and tiptoed across the dark room. He shuffled his way towards the far window, then crumpled into a heap on the dusty floorboards. He refused to look up for a minute, attempting to prepare himself for the sweet torture he was about to endure.

Draco finally lifted his watery gaze to the mirror in front of him. For a second he only saw his deteriorating image, but a second later, Potter was crouched beside him. Reflection Harry looks as handsome as ever, neatly dressed in his Hogwarts uniform, dazzling red and gold tie knotted tightly against his Adam's apple. Reflection Draco would have to remove that. His green eyes are twinkling under the moonlight, and his lips are open and welcoming. He cradles Reflection Draco, and presses soft kisses against his neck. And if Real Draco _really_ concentrates, he can almost feel it.

Draco feels his body relax as he gets lost in his fantasies. Reflection Harry is never angry, never hurt, only adoring. His only focus is to love Draco, to worship his pale skin, which flushes under his touch. Reflection Draco and Harry start kissing, hands roaming over each other, tongues pressed together. Draco lets his head tilt backwards, imagining real lips against his chilled skin.

Draco stays there, long into the night and watches Reflection Harry. Watches Reflection Draco. Maybe if he stays here forever, the images will be permanently burned into his mind.

But when dawn starts to break, he gathers himself together and returns to his dormitory to shower.

* * *

Draco manages to stay away from the mirror for a few days, but by the third sleepless night, he wraps a cloak around himself and exits the chilly room, leaving behind is comfortable bed and snoring housemates.

His shoes look stupid with his silken pyjamas, but all he can think about is Reflection Harry, and he can't wait any longer. Walking as briskly as he can through the corridors, he automatically turns left and right until he reaches the familiar door. His hand looks frail and cold as he turns the handle, but he barely notices.

Quickly shutting the door behind him, he crosses the room, towards his beloved mirror and it's beautiful images. However, in his state of desperation he failed to notice the gentle sobs bouncing off of the bare walls. He collapses against the floor, and stares into the reflective glass. Reflection Harry has just appeared when Draco hears _it_.

A squeak of surprise directly to his left snaps his attention and he whips around. The sound came from right beside him, but the room is as empty as it always was. Shaking his head, he turns back to the mirror. He's _really_ going crazy. Reflection Harry has started his usual nibbling on Draco's throat when _someone_ makes another noise.

This time, realising he definitely isn't alone, and thankfully not _completely_ crazy, Draco draws himself up and glances around the room. It's very dark, and empty from furnishings, except the mirror. Draco sighs and squeezes his eyes shut.

Then, Reflection Harry speaks, at least Draco assumes it's him. He moves towards the guild frame and squints. He's never spoken before, never even made a noise. But he just spoke, the voice that Draco heard every day in his lessons.

"What do you see?" Harry whispers again, except his Reflection isn't moving, just standing there, holding Reflection Draco's hand between his tanned palms. Draco's heart rate increases as he becomes puzzled. His eyes dart around the frame, expecting Potter to appear from behind and attack him, punish him for his perverted behaviour.

Then, he notices _another_ Harry in the mirror. A real Harry.

Standing beside him, slightly further back, is Harry Potter. Draco knows he is real because his raven hair is bedraggled, his eyes are bloodshot and his pyjamas are rumpled. Reflection Harry always looks happy, refined and whole. Real Harry is a shadow of the boy he used to be.

Draco slowly turns around to face his nemesis. As if he could even call him that. Despite his better judgement, his eyes roam over the smaller boy's frame. Potter looks.. _broken_. But everyone does these days. Those who survived the war are changed, some worse than others. Harry, being the centre of the battle, has suffered greatly. His once chiselled face is shallow, and his eyes lack their distinct glow. Dark shadows are telltale signs of nightmares similar to Draco's, haunting his sleep.

They just stand there, staring at each other for a few moments, a strange energy buzzing through the dirty air. Then, Harry turns back to look at the mirror, and becomes lost in whatever he sees there. Unable to remain with him any longer, Draco turned and fled. Cursing Potter all the way back to his dormitory.

* * *

Draco was reluctant to return to the mirror. What if he were to bump into Potter again? He can't stand the emotions in those green eyes; pity, shame, _disgust_. He doesn't want to see the Real Harry, it's only Reflection Harry he craves. The Harry who loves him.

But his attachment to the images the mirror provides is too strong, and he returns again. This time, he listens carefully for any signs of life. Satisfied he is in fact alone, Draco lays down once again, in front of the mirror, and resigns to his staring.

He doesn't bother leaving at dawn.

* * *

Draco doesn't know how long he's been there. The light of day is the only indication of the time. He slowly sits up, rubs his bleary eyes, and, casting one more, lingering gaze at Reflection Harry, leaves the room.

He feels surprisingly alert, the first sleep that surpassed 20 minutes in many weeks had rejuvenated his strength, and he makes his way to the Grand Hall with purpose in his step.

His appearance at the table seems to shock the Slytherin students there. Blaise stares at Draco, opened mouthed, and Nott even gasps. Pansy, ever the most sensible girl, slides a Goblet in Draco's direction and motions to the seat beside her. Thankful for some kind of normality, Draco sits beside her and covers his lap with a napkin. Suddenly ravenous, he fills his plate with food and tucks in - he must look as ugly as Weasley stuffing his mouth with chicken legs, but he hasn't eaten in weeks, and wants to try, while he has an appetite.

After a highly satisfying feast of chicken, steak, pasta and roast potatoes, Draco leans against the table, palms cradling his chin and _thinks_. His mind automatically drifts to Potter, and his grey eyes gravitate towards the Gryffindor table. He notices, with surprise, that Harry isn't there. It seems very unlike him to miss mealtimes, but Draco hadn't exactly been there often since his return to Hogwarts. Perhaps Potter had been avoiding the crowded room too.

He remains captured in his own thoughts for the remainder of dinner, until Pansy gently tugs his shoulder.

"Are you going to come to the common room?" She asks, sounding much like the old Pansy. Draco is grateful that she understands his distaste for pity, but still doesn't feel like listening to the chatter of his housemates for much longer.

"Perhaps later," he murmurs, relieved to use his voice after not speaking to anyone in a _very_ long time. Pansy nods, but softly squeezes his shoulder before rising and exiting with the rest of the crowd.

Alone again, Draco's thoughts become startling loud, and he wonders where Potter is. His pondering isn't helped by the familiar stirrings in his lower body. He groans internally as he pictures Reflection Harry, naked and writhing under Draco's touch.

Carefully gathering his robes around him, Draco quietly leaves the room.

* * *

A week later, Draco returns to the mirror for the first time. He hasn't slept properly since the evening he passed out there, but nightmares are no longer the only source of his restlessness. The dreams had started out the second night of his ' _break_ '. Potter arching under his touch. His tongue trailing down Potter's neck. The taste of sweat, boy and treacle in his mouth.

The second he sat down, Reflection Harry appears, and wraps himself around Reflection Draco. The usual arousal flushes over Draco and he lazily stares at the luxurious images. Reflection Potter's delicious skin, he can practically taste it. He can't help but writhe on the cold floor, a low hissing sound tumbling over his lips. Something about the room seems electrically charged, and he can't help Potter's name from rolling of his tongue.

A loud crash freezes Draco to the spot. He whips his head around, a single book has clattered to the floor, fallen from a shelf he never even knew was there. He quickly re-buckles his belt and stands up.

"Harry?" he tries, voice trembling.

"I know it's you," he pauses, his voice catching. He waits, listening to the pained silence for a response. A single, silvery tear runs down his cheek.

"I'm sorry, I tried not to," he murmurs. Embarrassed fog clouds his thought process as he realises the reason Potter is here. He knows that Draco is crazy. He knows what the _sick_ hallucinations in the mirror are of.

"Do you know what this is?" The familiar voice seems to come from everywhere, all at once, but still Draco can't see the beautiful boy.

"No?" Draco whispers. He meant to be firm, stand his ground, but it comes out more like a question.

"The mirror of Erised," Harry's voice is soft like velvet and Draco never wants him to stop speaking.

"Erised, Desire backwards," the voice is closer, moving towards Draco from somewhere across the room.

Softly, behind his right ear, Harry whispers again.

"It shows you what you desire most," his tone is unlawfully seductive, and Draco can feel his cool breath against his skin. He lets out an uneasy chuckle. He really is going crazy. He's standing in an abandoned room, imagining Potter behind him, talking to him. An uncharacteristic giggle bubbles up his throats and over his lips.

"It's awfully good at it," he breathes. He can sense Harry behind him, and even if this isn't real, it sure _feels_ real. He hears the rustle of material, and turns around. Standing in front of him is Potter, messy haired, smudged glasses, green-eyed _Real_ Potter.

Draco steps closer, fighting to keep his arms at his sides. Harry moves in too, his face terribly close to Draco's, gazing down at the Slytherin's pale lips, his own mouth millimetres above Draco's jawline.

"What do you see?" He whispers. With each syllable, his mouth moving with the shape of letters, his rough lips brush against Draco's soft skin.

"I see.. you.. and me," Draco manages, sounding much too breathy, too desperate.

"What do you see?" He enquiries. His silver eyes have slid shut, and the effort just to remain still cripples him.

"You, me, usually naked," Potter answers cheekily, and Draco can hear the smile on his pink lips.

Draco doesn't speak again, and neither does Harry. But the raven-haired boy sucks in a breath, reaches up to cradle the back Draco's neck, beneath his platinum hair, and presses his mouth hard against Draco's jaw. A rich moan vibrates through Draco's chest at the delightful sensation. Harry continues his open-mouthed kisses along Draco's taught jaw, down his neck and onto his collarbone. Draco doesn't remember taking his sweater off, but Harry is unknotting his tie, and fumbling with shirt buttons.

Finally, Harry tracks his way back up Draco's milky skin, towards his face. With a final whimper Draco grabs the Gryffindor by the scruff of the neck and pulls him up to his mouth. He presses his lips against Harry's, feeling them soften against him, and gently licks the lower lip. Harry whimpers and Draco resigns to make him whimper over and over. And maybe make him moan, or curse, or cry out Draco's name. Over and over again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Prompt:** The Fiendfyre

* * *

Harry had made the decision in a split second, but his brain hadn't quite followed the sequence of actions that led to him swerving around mid air, in the opposite direction to which he was flying. The momentum almost pushed Harry down to his fiery demise, but he managed to regain balance and control.

He could hear Ron shouting something, something that sounded like 'dying for Malfoy', but Harry's ears were ringing. The swooshing sound of magical flames, Malfoy and Goyle's pitiful screams for help, and the splintering of furniture were deafening. He quickly made his way through the cloying smoke, expertly directing a broom that wasn't his with subtle pressure and leans of his wounded shoulders.

Across the room, even with the weak visibility, Harry could clearly see the luminous platinum of Malfoy's hair. Even in a room filled with conjured evil, he shone like a beacon of like - the irony was strong. Harry makes a beeline for the haphazard tower the lithe Slytherin is balanced upon. The striking image of Malfoy's dark silhouette against the golden flames appears in the forefront of Harry's eye-line, and he has to suck in a steadying breath. Something about the image, of Malfoy so close to harm, causes a prickle to run across his skin.

Harry wastes time that he doesn't have, carefully looping through the smoke, cogs spinning in his brain - _why am I doing this?_ he thought.

Malfoy had always been able to get at Harry. From the very first day they met there had been a distaste for the pale, skinny boy. That day, in Madam Malkin's robe shop, Malfoy had reminded Harry of Dudley - it was natural to hate him. When they met again, on their first night at Hogwarts, Harry had declined Malfoy's, arrogant, offer of friendship. A bitter rivalry had quickly transformed them into each other's greatest enemy. Over the years they had consolidated these roles with taunting, snide comments and bullying - mostly from Malfoy's part. Their school years were punctuated with fights, both magical and physical. In those moments, when a bony fist would collide with Harry's jaw, he felt more alive than ever.

But now, things had changed. The world had changed. The war had changed everything, including themselves, irrevocably. Draco was just a boy. And yet, he was being forced into a world he had no option but to live in. Being forced to carry out terrible acts, at a threat of death. Draco didn't _want_ to do these things, he didn't _want_ to take the Dark Mark.

Harry was just a boy. He was being forced to kill the greatest dark wizard of all time, to save himself, and the rest of the wizarding world from certain peril. He had to risk his own life, and the lives of his friends for the future of the world. He had to leave school to find horcruxes, containing Voldemort's soul, and kill each one. He had no family to fall back upon. Thanks to Bellatrix, his last living wizarding relative was dead. He didn't _want_ to do this.

They were both 17. They were supposed to be learning, growing as individuals, discovering themselves, falling in love. Not living with fear, and under insufferable pressure.

For some reason that Harry didn't think he would ever be able to explain, Draco had saved Harry's life. Multiple times. First, he had refused to identify Harry at the manor. Even thought he _knew_ it was him. Then, he had relinquished grip on the stolen wands very easily, ultimately arming them for battle. And Harry was pretty certain it was his nemesis that had tipped Dobby off as to his whereabouts in the dungeon.

But now, Draco was going to die. But Harry could stop it happening. Harry was going to stop it. _Because, because, Malfoy had saved him._ And Harry couldn't imagine his life without Malfoy there to irritate, and rub up the wrong way. Behind it all, there was something strong holding them together. All the emotions surrounding their relationship should've been enough. There was a reason Malfoy could drive Harry crazy with a single gesture. A reason they would often find themselves with splayed hands all over each other, in a way that didn't seem quite right for a fight. A reason Malfoy had saved Harry. A reason they were here now.

Harry looped around the dangerously teetering pile once more, latching his gaze with Malfoy's, finally. The other boy was visibly shaking, black pupils blown wide. His knuckles were sheet-white, even paler than usual, from gripping onto a metal rod so hard. His stony face, which was usually ice cold and pale, was even lighter still. Malfoy looked terrible. And yet, he also looked good, and Malfoy-ish. Harry could see the fear in those dilated eyes. He didn't think Harry would save him.

Finally, coming to some sort of conclusion, Harry sped into action. He knew why he was saving Malfoy.

Harry reached out an arm, attempting to pull the scared boy onto the back of his broom. Their outstretched hands slid past each other, and Malfoy aggressively swung away from the pile, holding on by a single hand. Harry's stomach lurched, Malfoy had almost fallen into the raging fire. _But he didn't_ , Harry reminded himself, flying in again.

This time, Harry wrapped his fingers tightly around Malfoy's pointed elbow, and yanked him onto the broom. Malfoy immediately held himself so tightly to Harry it almost hurt. The Slytherin was so close to him, his chest pressed against Harry's back, heart thumping rapidly. Harry gulped and sped away. An ugly sob, reverberating against Harry's spine, causes his heart to twang uncomfortable - poor Malfoy.

Quickly, lifting high into the air, a finger's width from the ceiling, Harry dove through the rafters and smoky archways towards the large wooden doors that marked the exit. As soon as the familiar oak was in view, Harry leaned forward on the broom, diving through them just as the fire engulfed the entire room.

They travelled through the door at such speed, and with broom tail sizzling, that the final snarl of flames behind the doorway threw Harry off balance, and himself and Malfoy were tipped onto the floor. They collided with the flagstones, groaning with pain, legs tangled together and bodies half embraced from Malfoy's position. The broom fell with a resounding clatter, and the two boys looked at each other. Realising how close they were, Harry scrambled upwards and backed into the wall. Resting his head against the cold stone and allowing shallow pants to escape his cracked lips. His eyes slid shut and a pounding in his temple made them squint.

Suddenly, Harry is attacked by Malfoy. At least, he thinks it's an attack. One second he was catching his breath, the next, Malfoy is hovering in front of him, arms braced against the wall above Harry's head, and pale lips are smashed against his. The only wounds Malfoy is inflicting in this battle are bruises from his kisses.

Harry's eyes widen, but quickly flutter shut as he starts to react. Malfoy's lips are impossibly soft, and he tastes smoky. And this really isn't that different to kissing a girl, except better, because this is Malfoy. The silver eyed boy brings his hands up to cup Harry's cheeks, deepening the kiss, and opening his mouth. A quiet whimper escapes one of them as tongues meet, but it doesn't matter who. There was something behind this fiery kiss, and Harry realised with gravity what it was.

Love. They were in love.

Sitting there, exhausted, burnt and terrified, Harry leaned against the wall and relaxed. A lapful of Malfoy, a handful of fluffy blond hair, the sound of pure relief and a feeling of sheer love for this boy, Harry allowed himself to live for a few more minutes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** I posted this to my Tumblr and I got a pretty positive response! So, I'm also going to upload it here! I hope you enjoy, pretty please review!

* * *

 **(Love) Letters**

Harry Potter,  
Last chance to accept my proposal of friendship.  
You don't want to make a mistake you cannot erase.  
Draco Malfoy.

Hey Putter,  
I'd love the hit you with a few golf balls.  
Malfoy.

Hey Potty,  
Were you born that ugly, or did you get punched in the face too many times by your muggle family?  
Malfoy.

Hey Scarhead,  
How's your frizzy-haired Mudblood girlfriend?  
And your pet orangutan?  
Malfoy.

Hey Arselmouth,  
I didn't realise specky gits enjoyed murdering Hufflepuffs with snakes?  
I'm almost impressed.  
Malfoy.

Hey Orphan,  
Missing Mummy and Daddy?  
Malfoy.

Hey Princess,  
Did you hurt your head real bad when you fainted, or are you already damaged beyond repair?  
Malfoy.

Hey Prickter,  
I know you're up to something. I know what Hagrid's doing.  
Malfoy.

Hey Prince,  
Didn't get enough attention last year? Had to cheat your way into championship?  
I don't think you'll last 5 minutes.  
Malfoy.

Hey Porkie,  
Are you still starving yourself? You're like a bag of bones. Except with less fashion sense.  
Malfoy.

Hey Pisster,  
I can't believe you're still alive!  
Maybe die next time?  
Malfoy.

Hey Pothead,  
Is your little Mudblood still crying over a couple of words?  
Just learn, you must not tell lies.  
Malfoy.

Hey Plonker,  
Umbridge is looking for you.  
Malfoy.

Hey Plantpot,  
Umbridge can't get into the room. She doesn't know how.  
Malfoy.

Potter,  
Stop following me.  
Malfoy.

Potter,  
Seriously, stop following me. I'll fucking kill you.  
Malfoy.

Potter,  
You almost killed me.  
Draco.

Potter,  
Where are you? Why did you leave?  
Malfoy.

Potter,  
These letters just keep getting brought back. Where are you?  
Are you dead?  
Malfoy.

Potter,  
Please come back.  
Malfoy.

Potter,  
I knew it was you.  
Malfoy.

Potter,  
You were in my house. You saw my house.  
Malfoy.

Potter,  
You can't die.  
Please don't die.  
Malfoy.

Potter,  
You fucking saved me.  
Malfoy.

Potter,  
You're dead.  
You're gone.  
Malfoy.

Potter,  
You aren't dead.  
Malfoy.

Potter,  
You did it.  
Malfoy.

Hello Potter,  
Thank you, so much, for saving me. Thank you for saving my mother. Thank you for saving the entire wizarding world. I'm sorry for everything I did. And, I-  
Sincerely, Malfoy.

Mr Potter,  
Thank you so much for returning my wand.  
Draco Malfoy.

Potter,  
I don't know how you did it, but thanks.  
Malfoy.

Potter,  
How do you unlock the staff room again?  
Malfoy.

Hello Potter,  
Granger is forcing me to ask you if you'd care to join us for drinks on Friday night.  
(You can say no.)  
Malfoy.

Potter,  
Are you still coming tonight?  
Malfoy.

Hey Potter,  
Thanks for last night.  
I'm sorry you had to see me like that.  
Malfoy.

Hey Potter,  
Do you want to go for a pint tonight, after work?  
I'll pay?  
Malfoy.

Hey Potter,  
What time did you say you're picking me up?  
Draco.

Hey Harry,  
Yesterday was amazing.  
Draco.  
Ps. We were always going to win!

Harry,  
Are you sure I'm supposed to feel like this? Are you sure it was a muggle film? There was no misery potion involved?  
Draco.

Harry,  
Where did you learn to cook!?  
Draco.

Harry,  
Happy Valentine's Day!  
Draco.

Harry,  
I miss you.  
When are you home?  
Draco.

Harry,  
I love you.  
Draco.

Harry,  
Are you sure this is a good idea?  
Last chance to back out?!  
Draco.

Harry,  
I've forgotten my keys..  
Draco.

Harry,  
YOU LEFT LAUNDRY ON THE FLOOR!  
AGAIN!  
Draco.

Harry,  
Will you cook tonight? Pretty please?  
D.

Harry,  
You forgot your paperwork. I'll send Hedwig.  
D.

Hey Harry,  
Come and find me, I've got your coffee!  
D.

Harry,  
Where's my tie!?  
D.

Marry me, Draco?  
Harry. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Another one from my Tumblr. (I warned you I'm terrible at updating!)

* * *

 **Draco Malfoy has a.. hickey**

Harry shuffles some papers around the desk. He folds some parchment into neat squares. He lines his textbook up with the table edge. He checks the stash of ink bottles in his bag. He ruffles and then straightens the feather of his quill. He engraves circles into his textbook with his wand. He flicks his hair away from his eyes. He kicks the table leg. He pops his knuckles.

Ron finally raises his head, and a questioning eyebrow, annoyed, and fed up of his friend's fussing. Harry just shakes his head. He can't concentrate. He is sorry for being so twitchy. But he can't help it. And it's all Malfoy's fault.

They must have gotten carried away last night. They met in the Astronomy Tower. Midnight, sharp. Just like they do most nights. They stayed there for some time. No insults were hurled, no wands were drawn, no skin was tarnished. _Well…_

Draco is sitting prettily at his desk, (he always looks pretty), in the middle of Transfigurations, with a rather large, rosy-red bruise on his neck. On the left, close to his ear. It's right below that adorable mole.

Harry can't stop himself from looking. He doesn't want to stop himself from looking. But every time he glances in that direction he has to grind his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut tightly. He can hardly believe it. He _doesn't_ believe it. Malfoy always spells away his hickeys.

Harry loves giving hickeys. (Hickey - what a hideous word). Almost as much as he loves receiving them. But Malfoy spells them away, always. Harry likes to make sure Draco hides one, lower down, on Harry's collarbone. Just so that he can walk about, knowing it is there, a constant reminder that Draco is his, that he is Draco's. That this is real. Draco doesn't leave any hickeys on his own skin, no matter how much Harry would like him to. Maybe it's because Harry wants him to. But Harry couldn't ask him to leave one, to stop spelling them away. He couldn't explain to Draco why he likes it so much, why he likes hickeys so damn much, (or why he likes Draco so much!) He can't even explain it to himself. Nobody likes hickeys. Harry accepts that, he knows that he's the weird one, it's not unusual. Malfoy always spells them away.

But today, today he has left it there, on show, for the entire school to see. For Harry to see.

Harry looks up again, he can't stop it. His boyfriend, (not yet), is staring at their professor. He's tilting his head to the side, as if he's interested in what McGonagall is saying. Harry knows him better. He knows Draco couldn't give two shits about Transfiguration. And he knows Draco is trying to drive him crazy. And he knows that Draco knows he is succeeding.

The sunlight makes Draco's pale skin seem almost translucent, and the mark contrasts harshly against the creamy surface. It's so fucking obvious. If anyone were to just look at him now, just glance at him, just for a second, they would see it. Notice it. There's basically a sign above Draco's head - 'I'm snogging Potter! Harry licks his lips and imagines it's the smooth skin of Draco's throat that he's tasting. _Why does he have to be such a git?_

Harry tries to catch Draco's eye. Tries to glare into those misty pools of silver. Tries to communicate his discomfort, his concern. But the teasing Slytherin purposely avoids his gaze, pretending to be engrossed with Parkinson's split ends. Harry huffs frustratedly, and he thinks he can see Draco's mouth twitching. Draco's mouth is moving. His lips are turning up at the corner. He's smirking, the bastard.  
But then Harry is distracted by Draco's mouth. As if the movement was intended to distract him in that way. From over here, at his desk, at a distance, those thin lips don't look like they're good for much, except maybe sneering. Or maybe that stomach-melting smirk. But once you get close enough, so close that you can see the swirls of blue in Draco's eyes. So close that you can see the tiny, nearly-transparent birthmark on Draco's cheek, right below his left eye - that little smudge. When you're that close, you quickly realise that they are actually perfectly good lips. Pouty, and soft, and addictive, and tasty. Delicious.

Draco ruffles his white hair with an equally fair, bony hand, acting as though it's a casual gesture. But Draco never ruffles his hair. At least not in public. Actually, he always smooths it back, away from his forehead. He hasn't done that today. Harry loves it when Draco's hair is fluffy, fluttering over those high cheekbones of his. Draco knows that. Every move is calculated, measured.

Harry growls. Ron turns back to stare at him again, with wide eyes, he's alarmed. Harry grits his teeth again and turns his attention back to McGonagall. His nails dig into his palm.

When the bell rings, Harry sweeps the entire contents of the desk into his bag, including Ron's slimy chunk of wood. They were supposed to be turning a fish into a pencil. Harry's fish was laying, sweating, on his tile. And his pencil is somewhere on the floor. He throws the grubby bag aggressively over his shoulder, then rushes away from the desk, shadowing Draco as he exits the room. He hastily shouts a last-minute "goodbye!" to Ron without turning back, and dashes out of the room, having to force himself not to run. A gang of Hufflepuffs have overtaken him.

Harry quickly spots Draco's distinctive platinum hair amongst the crowd. He also notices the tapestry he knows leads to a secret, quiet, desolated corridor. Hurrying forward, he grabs Malfoy's pointy elbow and drags him away from the crowd. Merlin, everything about that boy is pointy.

Ducking past the flimsy material, Harry dumps his bag and slams Draco against the wall. He swallows the Slytherin's protests with a heated kiss, and Draco gasps in happy surprise. After a minute, Harry pulls back to nudge Draco's chin upwards with his nose and stare at the bruise there, tarring that perfect skin. Marking him. Showing Harry that Draco is his. It's bigger that he first thought, and positioned directly beside his vein, which is throbbing with Draco's accelerated pulse. Harry smirks and allows his gaze to slide to a spot under Draco's jaw, finding the other cute mole, biting his lip. Then he reaches down to bite another hickey in beside it, and another. And another.

"Merlin, if I knew hickeys made you act like- mm- this, I'd have stopped spelling them aw- uh- away ages ago!" Draco gasps out, pulling Harry up by his unruly hair.

"Fuck you," Harry whispers before kissing him again. 


End file.
